


Good Enough to Eat

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Like so much rimming guys, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Rimming, The X Factor Bungalow, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: “Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shuffling. “You won’t give me shit for it? It’s sorta weird.”“No,” Louis breathes. “Promise.”“Okay. I just...fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…Iloverimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.It takes Louis a few seconds to process, to mentally rifle through his Pornhub search history and remember what rimming evenis; Harry has him so stupid he can’t keep stuff straight. His ears ring, and then it hits him, and,oh, fuck. His stomach turns and tightens so quickly he’s gasping, an audible and shameful scrape of air in the dark. “You…really?” he chokes out.---Or, Harry is convinced he's never gonna be able to try his favorite porn fantasy on a real boy, and Louis offers to remedy this.





	Good Enough to Eat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wankerville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wankerville/gifts).



> I wrote Wankerwille another fic because I'm weird and have no chill and love her so much?! I guess this is what happens when you share your service-kink/subby baby Harry head canons with me. 
> 
> I was gonna hold off on posting but it's a rough day in the fandom for some reason so I thought I'd throw some porn up to distract people with positivity. I love Harry and Louis and I love rimming and I'm sure they love rimming too, so here are some awkward teenagers awkwardly navigating kink, as per usual.

It’s late, it’s dark, and Louis is probably losing his fucking mind. 

It’s all Harry’s fault, though. Harry drives Louis insane, and Harry is _right here_ , some indistinct stretch of space away from him, centimeters, inches, but less than a foot, that’s for certain. It’s hard to know for sure because the light’s off, but he’s _maddeningly_ close, close enough that Louis can feel the warmth of Harry’s skin like a furnace, Harry’s hot huff of breath on his face when he laughs. So he tries to make him laugh as much as he possibly can; his breath is the sexiest-smelling thing, and Louis can’t— _can’t_ —get enough of it. Breathing in his exhalations is almost like kissing, and there’s nothing in the world Louis wants more than to kiss Harry, except, maybe, to kiss him all over his body. Suck spots of color into the padded softness of his tummy, right above the waistband of the flimsy black Topman pants he’s wearing, the ones so threadbare even his soft package makes an obscene bulge inside of them. Louis knows because even though he’s been trying not to look all night, he always ends up staring anyway; Harry has no shame and regularly wears pants around the bungalow (if he’s wearing anything at all), and Louis is only eighteen and in love for the first fucking time, so he doesn’t know how to stop. 

They’re side by side on Harry’s single bed, the other boys sleeping in the living room, a whole separate world away. Louis’s always trying to get Harry alone, not even to _do_ anything, really (he’s too scared for that still, and he has no idea how to go about it anyway), but just because it feels better than anything else, because he _craves_ it so much and so constantly that it’s distracting. All of Harry’s attention, all of his eye contact, his snorting, hiccuping laughter, his being close enough to smell. All they’re doing is _talking_ about nothing, and Louis is so, so hard. It should scare him, embarrass him, but it doesn’t because he’s stupid with it, logic and self-preservation instinct dulled with a haze of hunger. He’s just…he’s smitten, lost, gone. He’s lying in the dark, talking to the first real-life boy he’s ever wanted badly enough to make him forget about his gay crisis and just be _gay_. He’s _so_ fucking gay, and he keeps thinking it with sharp, electric clarity as they lie together and chat and giggle and tease, _fuck, m’so gay, want him so fucking badly_ , over and over again, truer each time. 

Louis being gay is part of the reason why they’re locked away together in the first place, Louis and Harry against the world, new best mates unified by secrets. He and Harry have been friends since auditions, but it didn’t take long for that friendship to turn intense and parasitic, since the second day of bootcamp, really, when they took a trip to the loo together, and Harry asked him, head bent and eyes cast to his shoes as they padded down the hallway, _Lou…Lou, please don’t take this the wrong way, but. Are you? Or...do you like boys, I mean?_ Louis had been shocked, scared, silenced with his heart up in his throat because, _god_ , he must be so obvious, the way he looks at Harry must have given him away. When he was younger, he used to inspire crueler versions of that question all the time; it was something about his voice, the way he moved, the softness to his wrists when he kicked off during a footie game. (He’s gotten better at hiding it since then, learned his tics and tells, even gotten a proper _girlfriend_ , but then there are boys like Harry, the ones who can see through the layers of performance because he can’t, _can’t_ hide certain things. Plus, Harry makes him not _want_ to, makes him afraid to lie, because what if he’s the same?) 

And it turns out, he _is_ the same. Louis answered with a sort of guilty, sputtering, not-quite-silence that made Harry’s face get soft with relief, eyes hazy. _I…it’s okay. I do, too. I thought maybe…I dunno, I could tell, and I just wanted you to know, me, too. Wonder if there’s anyone else here, or if it’s just us?_

And that’s how they got here, forever making private eye contact with each other across the dining table when the other lads bring up girls, forever sneaking off together to roll their eyes and share something silent, special, private. And Louis…he doesn’t _know_ if it’s the same for Harry that it is for him, if they’re just friends who share a common secret, or if there’s something _more_ , if everything feels so charged because Harry wants Louis _back_ , can’t stop thinking about Louis the same way Louis can't stop thinking about him. If he fantasizes about him, about drinking in his breath and closing his eyes in the dark, imagining what it would feel like to _taste_ him, pull him on top and struggle to breathe under his weight, kiss him how he should be kissed, with a mouth like that. Louis’s breath keeps catching every time Harry rolls closer and their skin brushes accidentally, their knees or ankles, or once, Harry’s big clumsy hand against Louis’s arm, only for a second, but still, it always burns. 

Eventually there's a lull in their conversation, a tight, heavy pause, and before it comes, Louis knows what’s coming. This is what happens in silence and in the dark when you’re alone together and young. Sex comes up, inevitably, the elephant in every room. 

Harry swallows thickly, mattress creaking under his weight as he adjusts himself, propping his body up on his side using his elbow. “So,” he says, voice low and raspy in the night, barely above a whisper. “Have you, like…done anything? With a boy?” 

It hangs in the darkness, sharp and terrifying and hot. Louis shivers, delicately brushing his fringe out of his eyes before locking his hands in front of him, willing them to stay glued where they are in favor of flying to his mortifyingly hard cock. “Erm, no,” he admits, clearing his throat, cheeks burning. He’s so grateful the light’s off, otherwise Harry would know what he was doing to him, how he was making him flush, thickening his cock. Driving him insane. “I haven’t actually liked a real boy, like, not in real life,” he murmurs, the _until you_ remaining unsaid, stinging in his throat. “Just…watched a lot of gay porn, I guess.” His voice dies in his windpipe because that’s the first time he’s ever told that to another person, that he’s watched enough gay porn to know what he likes, what he’s into, what to fantasize about. It feels so _vulnerable_ to let that just sit in the suddenly hot, humid stillness between them, so he adds, “Erm, you? Have you done anything?” 

Harry shuffles around, nothing but a soft rustle in the dark. Louis wishes he could see him, wishes he could know what he’s thinking, if he’s affected at all by this. “I’ve…sort of. Like, never had a proper boyfriend or anything, but I’ve snogged a few guys. And last summer, when my family was on holiday in France? I met a guy…he was a little older than me, Italian, staying at the hotel we were at. Anyway, one night we got stoned together and ended up wanking in his room. We felt each other’s pricks, a little, but, like…god, I was so nervous and so high, I got really paranoid about it and stopped. Wish I hadn’t, though, it was…it was really hot,” he says, voice so hushed and quiet as it slurs in the dark, and Louis is losing his mind picturing the whole thing in detail, stomach a mess of arousal and jealousy and confusion and longing. He wishes _he_ had been on holiday in France when Harry was, he wishes it had been him who smoked fifteen-year-old Harry out and got a hand on his prick. God, Louis has never touched another boy, but he thinks about it all the time, twice as much now that he’s met Harry, and he’d do _anything_ to him, with him, all his theoretical fantasies newly real and raw and scorching to think about. 

“M’jealous,” he mumbles, meaning it. “I’ve never gotten to…don’t know any boys from Donny who wouldn’t freak out. Plus, I don’t like any of them like that. So, just…have to wank thinking about it.” 

Harry is quiet, eyes flashing as he blinks in the dark, nothing but hovering wetness reflecting the moonlight. Louis wants to drown in him, is licking his lips and thinking about it when Harry clears his throat and asks, “What kind of videos do you like to wank to? Do you have, like…specific stuff you’re into?” 

Louis wonders if this conversation is turning Harry on. He can taste an edge to his breath, a crackling charge in his shaky exhalation as it huffs out over his own mouth, and he wonders if it’s _that_ , if Harry’s hard, too. The mere thought makes him shudder and shift in the dark as he squeezes his thighs together because he doesn’t think he can get away with anything more. “Yeah,” he confesses, shutting his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his voice even. “This is sort of lame and weird, but, like…m’into those videos that are, like, supposedly straight guys’ first times? Like, gay for pay?” 

He half-expects Harry to laugh, but he doesn’t. There’s a sharp intake of breath followed by a relieved, “Fuck. Yeah, me, too. I think…I think because I don’t know any other bi guys or whatever? Every crush I’ve ever had has probably been on a straight guy, so the idea turns me on.” 

“Yeah! Like, I’ve only really had crushes on older boys in footie or whatever. Totally unattainable,” Louis says, cock twitching in his boxers, so hot and heavy that he’s _wet_ , slicking up the inside of his pants the more they talk. _Honestly, you’re the first real boy I’ve liked. The first one, the only one. And I like you so much, Harry_ , he thinks. 

“I love first-time blow job videos,” Harry blurts out, and _fuck_ , Louis has to bite the inside of his cheek, the low rasp of Harry’s voice clutching low and filthy in his gut. “I kind of love all blow job videos, really.” 

“Me, too,” Louis whispers, past the point of being able to keep his words from wavering. He’s shaking, everything is shaking, and he’s so fucking turned on that he has his hand flattened out over the flickering plane of his abs, inches away from his fat cock. “You…do you imagine getting your prick sucked? Or doing the sucking?” 

Harry sucks in a breath, and it’s messy, uneven, strangled. “Erm, _both_ ,” he answers, sheets rustling around him as he moves, and Louis’s half-sure now that Harry’s hard, too, the idea of it making him so dizzy, it’s _insane_. He wants to reach out and feel, he wants to burn up in the heat of it, and god, he’s so in love, he wants Harry in every way, wants him, wants him. Harry makes a low humming sound in his throat, contemplative and quiet, before adding, “But mostly…I dunno. I wank a lot to the idea of getting my face fucked. Is that weird?” 

And Louis’s _dying_ , has come to the thought of Harry’s pretty mouth slick and drooling as he feeds him his cock so many fucking times that there’s probably something wrong with him. Harry has ridiculously pink lips; they always look soft and sweet, and if Louis isn’t imagining what it would be like to kiss him, he’s imagining dirtier things, and here’s Harry, telling him he gets off on the idea of having that perfect mouth used. _Fucked_. “God,” Louis breathes, rubbing his face with his hands, stunned by how much he's burning up, damp with sweat. “No, s’not weird.” _It’s so hot, Harry, fuck_ , he wants to say, but it’s too much, it would cross the line they’re only dancing around at this point, and Louis _can’t_ yet, he’s scared he’s reading so much more into this than he should. “What…what turns you on about that? If you, like...don't mind talking about it.” 

Harry laughs nervously, a sweet-smelling gust of breath tickling across Louis’s lips, and _fuck_ , he’s so close to drooling on the pillow they’re sharing, everything feels so _close_ and hot and charged, and Louis’s coming apart, fraying to bits. His pants are so wet, he's so fucking hard, and Harry’s saying shit like, “I dunno. Just…everything. I just feel like having it in your mouth…it would be so much, I mean, you could smell and taste him, and when he came, it would be _in your mouth_ , and just…fuck. I think that’s really hot. I like how, I dunno, _intimate_ and, like, sort of dirty it is? But fuck, actually, you know what my favorite sorts of videos are?” 

Louis doesn’t know, but _god_ , he wants to. He’s trembling, heart pounding so hard in his chest that he’s sure Harry can hear it, must _know_ what it does to him to think about Harry getting off on the idea of a guy coming in his mouth. _I would...I would give that to you, if you wanted it_ , he thinks brokenly. “What?” he asks, wetting his lips with his tongue, hand skating down to cup his cock through his pants because he can’t hold it off any longer; he’s in a haze, and he can barely hear Harry breathing over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shuffling. “You won’t give me shit for it? It’s sorta weird.” 

“No,” Louis breathes. “Promise.” 

“Okay. I just...fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. Louis holds his breath as he waits, and eventually Harry confesses. “So, like…I _love_ rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” Harry admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled. 

It takes Louis a few seconds to process, to mentally rifle through his Pornhub search history and remember what rimming even _is_ ; Harry has him so stupid he can’t keep stuff straight. His ears ring, and then it hits him, and, _oh_ , fuck. His stomach turns and tightens so quickly he’s gasping, an audible and shameful scrape of air in the dark. “You…really?” he chokes out.

“I know it’s weird,” Harry says miserably, rolling over onto his stomach, which lands him close enough to Louis that their sides brush. It’s _electric_ , making Louis’s skin tingle as he shifts closer to the wall, pressing up against it to keep his hard cock from touching the outside of Harry’s leg. “It’s so fucking weird, and it should be gross, but I just…god, I love the idea. Of that. Of eating arse,” Harry clarifies in a low, guilty voice, as if Louis needed this situation to get any _more_ unbearably hot. 

“It’s _not_...it isn’t weird, Harry, it’s okay,” he manages to say, practically panting because he doesn’t remember how to breathe normally. Now he’s not only imagining Harry’s red mouth stretched around his cock, but the slick spread of it _there_ , over his _hole_ , the dirtiest most secret place where Louis hasn’t even really touched _himself_ , and it’s the fucking hottest and dirtiest most insane thing he’s ever thought about in his whole entire life. “I like those videos, too,” he admits, cheeks burning. 

“Really?” Harry breathes, exhaling in a relieved shudder. “It’s honestly…god. I fantasize about it a lot...I just think it’s the hottest thing, like, so dirty, to put your mouth there? But I feel like I’ll never actually get to do it because, well, how do you even bring that up to a guy?” he whispers, shrugging. He makes a sort of wistful motion in the shadows, like he’s letting go of something, like he’s resigned to this future where he never gets to eat a guy’s arse, and _jesus_ , Louis is dangerously close to coming in his fucking pants under the heat of his palm at the thought of it, of Harry’s searing tongue prodding him there in that private, private place. So, like…maybe that’s why he says it. Because he’s so turned on that he can’t even think, but also because he doesn't want Harry to not have something he wants when he’s right here and would give him anything, _anything_. 

“Well,” Louis chokes out, voice so high and light it’s almost unrecognizable. His chest is aching, his cock is pulsing, his stomach is tight, his thighs are sore from tensing, and his ears are _ringing_ as he mumbles, “I would…if you wanted to. Like, obviously no pressure, at all, but just know that I’d let you do that to me if it was, like, something you were interested in.”

His heart is pounding and pounding and pounding, threatening to crack open his chest from the inside, when everything changes. 

“What… _really_?” Harry yelps, making fists in the sheets bunched between them, body locking up. “Like, right _now_?” 

Louis’s gone deaf, so he doesn’t even hear himself answer, “Yeah, if you wanted to...whenever you wanted, I’d let you.” 

“Oh, god,” Harry whines, sort of dissolving, the breath shuddering out of him smelling so sweet, so fucking sweet that Louis’s cock pulses out a mess of precum. “You’d really do that for me?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says again, moving on autopilot, drunk on the perfect smell of Harry’s breath. _I’d do anything for you._

“ _I’d_ …fuck, _thank you_ , Louis, you have no idea, like...god, I’d love that so fucking much,” he slurs, and Louis can’t even believe this is happening, can’t believe his fucking _luck_. He’s so happy that Harry’s attracted enough to him (or at least to his arse) to not be freaked out by the suggestion, that he _wants it,_ wants it so badly he’s actually _grateful_. And Louis is stunned and overwhelmed and a little scared that he hasn’t even _kissed_ Harry’s mouth, but he’s offering his arse up to it, all falsely nonchalant like it’s not a massive fucking deal, like he hasn't been secretly in love with Harry since the moment he met him. “My _mouth_ is watering, Louis,” Harry admits darkly, voice nothing but a shaky hush, and _fuck, fuck_ , Louis is going _insane_ , this can’t be happening. Harry swallows noisily before asking, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis answers. “I’ve sort of...sort of, like, been turned on ever since we started talking about porn,” he adds, half-lying because he’s sort of been turned on ever since he and Harry locked the door behind them, tumbled into Harry’s bed, shut off the light, and started talking about _anything_ , anything at all. 

“God, me, too,” Harry agrees softly, shifting closer but not close enough. He’s not climbing on top of Louis, he’s not pushing himself into his arms and kissing him, so it’s not enough, but Louis doesn’t know what to do, how to initiate something as crazy and unfathomable as arse-eating, because he’s never even _touched_ another boy; this right here is the furthest he’s gone, and he’s already falling apart. “Can I, erm, turn on the light?” Harry asks then, sending a searing clench of heat to Louis’s gut, twisting him up. “I really wanna see.” 

The thought of being so exposed makes Louis terribly nervous and triggers a billion thoughts, like how he showered tonight, but he’s been sweating since then, and that his arse probably doesn’t smell fresh or fruity or floral or whatever one’s arse is supposed to smell like before someone puts their _mouth_ there. “I…do you want me to shower first? Coz I will, if you want.”

“No, _no,_ ” Harry says frantically, shaking his head so hard Louis can hear his curls whipping about his ears. “Please no. I mean, if you really want to, I guess, but I want you like this, please,” he babbles. “Like this and with the light on, so I can see you. That's how I want it.” 

He sounds so desperate and so certain that Louis’s stomach drops hard, so hard that he’s almost nauseated by it. It’s just…Harry’s so eager to get his _mouth_ on Louis’s _arse_ , and he wants it dirty, wants to look, wants to see what Louis’s hole looks like all messy and spit-wet, and it’s all so fucking _filthy_ that Louis can hardly stand it, he’s gonna incinerate to ash, right here in the dark. 

“You wanna see my arse?” Louis giggles, giddy and lightheaded and dizzy and dying as he rolls onto his stomach, burying his face into Harry’s pillow as Harry stumbles out of bed. Then, while he’s feeling so dazed that he can disguise it as bravery, “Guess if you want, you can turn on the light.” 

“ _Yes,_ …god, Louis. Do you even _know_ …,” he trails off, voice getting low and soft as he flicks on the light and floods the room. Louis has his eyes hidden in the pillow, but he can feel the shift, can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath as he sees him for the first time. “It’s so good,” Harry says then, quietly, almost to himself, and Louis’s stomach plummets because _fuck_ , he knows he has sort of a _big_ arse for a boy, but he’s never thought much about it, never wondered what it might do for another boy who likes that sort of thing. He experimentally wiggles his hips, swaying his bum in the air a bit before humping down into the mattress reflexively, unable to keep from grinding when he’s so fucking turned on. Harry groans audibly as he watches him, the type of groan that comes from bitten lips, and Louis feels _powerful_.

“Are you gonna?” he asks, turning his head so he can breathe better, hot cheek smushed against the pillowcase, eyes bunched up so he doesn't have to look at Harry and subsequently lose it, so he doesn't have to adjust to the light. “Should I take my pants off?” he adds, scared and shy and self-conscious and so, _so_ turned on that he can hardly care. 

“I’ll do it,” Harry answers quickly, as if jogged from his reverie. He clambers back up onto the bed, which bows under his weight as he situates himself between Louis’s thighs. “Oh, my god,” he breathes, smoothing his hands down the dip of Louis’s lower back experimentally, a shocking, featherlight touch that makes Louis flinch. He bites back a whimper, hiding his face in the pillow again. Harry’s hands are so big and warm; they spread over the whole of him as they slide tentatively down to cup the swell of his bum, broad and hot, covering him, containing him. It’s so heady that he can't help pushing up into it a little, hips twitching beyond his control. Harry holds his breath as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of Louis’s pants and pulls them down slowly, fingers trembling as they brush gently against skin.

Louis is beside himself, stunned to a choked silence over how surreal and sudden this all is. Nothing in his whole life has ever felt like this, so raw and vulnerable and _amazing_ , Harry unwrapping him like he’s a present, slow and clumsy with awe. “Oh, my god, _god_ , fuck,” he whispers once he’s fully exposed him, rolling his pants down his thighs as Louis helps him, canting up off the bed and freeing his absurdly hard cock. “Louis…this is, like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Harry breathes. “Sorry if that’s weird, you’re just…you’re _so_ fit...can’t believe you’re gonna let me do this. I feel like m’dreaming.” 

“No, s’not weird, you’re not dreaming,” Louis murmurs, stomach nothing but butterflies because Harry called him _fit_ , Harry thinks he's _fit_. He feels fit, anyway, arching his back to make his bum stick out, presenting himself to Harry. It’s hard to stay upright, though, his thighs keep spasming in intervals until he can’t hold himself up anymore, collapsing back onto the bed so he can hump it helplessly. “Just…do it, I really want you to,” he says, and it sounds like begging, so maybe it is. 

Harry takes his time, savoring every second, lowering himself onto his stomach and idly rubbing his hands up and down the back of Louis’s legs like he loves them, fascinated by the shift of golden hair against even more golden skin. Louis has never felt so fucking sexy; it’s so overwhelming that he’s had to stop thrusting against the bed lest he come, and he doesn’t want that yet, he wants to come with Harry’s tongue in his arse, Harry’s _tongue_ in his _arse_ , fuck, god. Harry kisses up his thigh, soft and gentle, thumbing into the crease where his cheeks meet his hamstrings, careful and deliberate, and his hair tickles as it brushes against his skin. “God, Harry,” Louis whines, and he has to make fists in the pillowcase, or else he’s gonna reach back and grab Harry, pull him in, make him _do_ it already before he fucking combusts and dies. 

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry whispers, breath hot as it licks against his thigh. “You’re beautiful. I think you’re so beautiful,” and that’s the last huge, devastating confession Harry leaves him with before he thumbs into Louis’s crack, pulling him open, making him forget everything ever, save for the hot, filthy revelation of his tongue flicking out over his hole. 

“Ahhh, fuck,” Louis groans, twisting away from the contact, so suddenly overwhelmed by the hot and the wet that he’s _crying_ , there are tears on his cheeks. He breathes harshly into the pillow, drowning in the smell of Harry’s oily hair as Harry pants against him, dizzy and breathless. 

“Is this okay? Should I stop?” Harry asks, hesitating because Louis is jerking away, even though he wants it _so badly,_ so badly he feels crazy with it. 

“No...don’t stop,” Louis stutters, aware his hole is _fluttering_ , clenching at nothing, damp with Harry’s sloppy lick. “S’just really weird, s’wet,” he says. “But I want...want you to do it.” 

“Okay,” Harry whispers back, sounding like he’s close to overwhelmed tears himself as he ducks back in, bending his head and flicking his tongue out again, this time moaning as he does it, sending a low, vibrating rumble through Louis’s body. It’s _so much_ , so sensational and nervy that it almost hurts, but Louis forces himself to hold on, a white-knuckled grip on the pillow as Harry dives in, opening his mouth wide and licking sloppily, desperately, all breath and spit, like he can’t get enough, like this is his last fucking meal. 

Once the initial shock wears off, it stops feeling weird-amazing and starts feeling amazing-amazing. Part of it is how crazy Harry is with it, whimpering as he licks and sucks and drools, holding Louis split open with bruising force, driving his tongue _into_ him on the odd stroke, alternating between that and soft, messy kitten licks all over. Louis has never felt anything like it, vision whited out in searing bliss as Harry kisses him and _fucks_ him, opening his hole with his tongue, fierce and determined and so fucking hot.

“God, Harry, Harry,” Louis keens, getting up on his hands and knees and rocking back to meet Harry’s licks, grinding his arse down onto his tongue, rubbing himself into the slickness of his mouth. His cock is pulsing precum all over his stomach and dripping into the sheets every time he flexes. He can tell Harry likes it this way, can hear the desperate timber to his groans as Louis uses him, fucks back against his raw mouth. _I just think it’s the hottest thing, like, so dirty,_ he had said, this boy who fantasizes about eating arse, finally getting what he wants. Louis sobs with that thought, breath catching and burning in his throat because _fuck_ , he wants to give that to Harry, wants to give him every little thing. “ _You’re_ so beautiful,” Louis says brokenly, circling his hips, gasping as Harry spears him open again, tongue pointed and wet and soft all at once. “So fucking good, Harry...lick me out so good...best thing I ever felt...perfect,” he babbles, stuff he’s never fucking said ever in his life during sex, he just, he _needs_ Harry to know how amazing it feels, how fucking hot this is for him, too.

Harry pulls away with a strangled yelp, and then, without warning, he’s coming in his own fist, hips jerking in the air as he empties himself all over the sheets between Louis’s bent legs. Louis hadn't even realized he was _wanking_ , and the realization hits him hard, makes his hole clench up desperately, like he still needs Harry’s tongue up inside him. “God, look at you...oh, my god,” he murmurs, propped up on his elbows, head bent so he can watch Harry lose it between his thighs, cheeks shiny with his own spit, mouth open and red, a string of saliva dripping out onto the sheets to mingle with his come. _Fuck_. He’s the most beautiful thing, and Louis wants to _kiss_ him so badly that he aches with it, thinks he deserves as much after getting teased with his breath all night and now seeing him like _this_.

“Fuck,” Louis gasps, collapsing onto his side before rolling onto his back, reaching down with a tremulous hand so he can grip his own cock and jerk himself to finish while he watches Harry, who has been reduced to a sputtering, panting mess of boneless limbs, hazy eyes, sticky pink cheeks, and fluttering lashes. 

He gets a few aching strokes in before Harry croaks, “ _Wait_ ,” crawling up on his elbows, looking wrecked and gorgeous and unbelievable all at once. He fits himself between Louis’s splayed thighs, drooling lewdly down his chin, eyes fixed on Louis’s cock only inches away from his face. “Can I suck it, please?” he begs, spreading his palms over Louis’s quads greedily, licking his lips. “Just, _please_ , I want it so badly...I’ve never done it before, but I’ll do a good job, promise.” 

Louis can’t say anything; this is the thing in his life that he has fantasized about most vividly and repeatedly, and it’s about to happen, Harry Styles opening his swollen lips and mouthing at the air hungrily, waiting for Louis to feed him his cock. He reaches for him, curling his hand at the base of his neck and bringing him down. “God, yes, please,” he wheezes, breath sharpening out into a messy yelp as Harry does it, closes his eyes and then closes his lips over just the head, suckling and groaning, face crumpling in overwhelm the second he gets his first taste.

It’s sloppy, and graceless, and Louis has never felt anything better in his whole entire life. Harry sucks and drools and gags himself, then he licks his way down his shaft, just tasting all over Louis self-indulgently, like this is something he fantasizes about, too. After a minute or so of idle exploration, he pulls back to just _look_ , licking his lips. Then he makes a fist at the base, staring hazy-eyed at Louis’s twitching length for a moment before making a small, muted, awed noise at the back of his throat. Then he's swallowing it, shoving himself down until he chokes a little and his eyes well up, and Louis can take about thirty seconds of this insane searing heat before he’s snapping his hips up into the sweet, wet suction of it and coming. 

His vision is nothing but static and floating lights as he lies there on his back with Harry between his thighs, doing something to him _still_ , something messy and slick and _too much_ , he’s so fucking sensitive. Louis would be canting away if he had any strength left in his body. “God,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open, head lolling on the sheets so he can look at Harry, who’s still nursing his softening cock with little sucks and kisses, brow crumpled, lines through his forehead. His eyes are closed, and he looks so fucking pretty and blissed out that Louis almost doesn’t want to stop him, but it’s so much that it actually _hurts_ , so he makes a plaintive whimper in the back of his throat and grabs Harry by his hair, hand bloodless and tingling. “Too much,” he whispers, tugging firmly. “Hazza.” 

“Sorry,” Harry slurs, tongue flicking out messily in the air, like he doesn’t even mean to. Louis’s stomach flips over in spite of himself. “Thank you...thank you, for letting me. Just...thank you so much,” Harry says in his hoarse, fucked-out voice. He sounds so broken and grateful that Louis wants to cry, wants to say, _no, thank_ you, _I can’t believe this happened, you don’t even know how many times I’ve dreamed of your mouth like this, how badly I want you all the time, how much I fucking love you._ He tugs at Harry’s hair because knowing the words he _wants_ to say doesn’t mean he can actually find the voice to say them, the voice or the nerve, really. 

“C’mere,” is what he says instead, flinging his other arm out so there’s room for Harry to collapse against him, so much hot, sweat-damp skin to breathe in, so Louis does. Just shuts his eyes and buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, face mashed up against the bone of it as he inhales him, smelling his sweat, his hair, his everything. “You’re amazing,” he says, voice muffled. _And I love you. Love you so much._

“I wanna kiss you,” Harry says then, words coming out like they were ripped from him, desperate and snagging, like he still hasn’t gotten all he wants. “I know your arse is all over my face, and I swallowed your come...I’ll wash up if you want, but I wanna kiss you, want it so badly,” he whines, grinding his brow into Louis’s, panting into his open mouth. “Tell me to stop if that’s not okay.” 

And fuck, _fuck_. Louis’s stomach is all knotted up, his heart is in his throat; he can smell himself on Harry’s breath and cheeks, and there’s nothing he wants more in the world than to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. “Harry,” he breathes, shaking his head and tightening the fist he has in his hair before flipping him onto his back. Harry is pliant and goes easily, a small, cut-off sound forced out of him as Louis climbs on top. He cups Harry’s face between his palms, drinking in the obscene flush on his cheeks and the messy swell of his parted lips before he murmurs, “Of course, I wanna kiss you...of course, of course,” before licking straight into his mouth, stealing his breath. 

Harry clutches him, hands biting into his shoulders as Louis fucks his tongue in and out of Harry’s slick mouth, getting him to whine, to moan, to tremble. Harry has used his mouth tonight, but Louis _hasn’t_ , hasn’t gotten a chance to get it on Harry at all in any way, save for being teased by his fucking _breath_ , and he’s mad with it now, absolutely insane with all the ways he wants to taste Harry. He snogs him so hard, sucking and biting his lips before pulling back with a wet smack, pitching forward again to mouth down Harry’s neck, over his collarbone, anywhere he can reach. _Just wanna taste...want you_ , he thinks brokenly, licking salt from his lips before sucking a dark, deliberate mark onto Harry’s shoulder, loving the way he yelps and bucks before he stills, just _letting_ him. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day since we met,” he admits, pulling away to breathe before bending again to kiss Harry’s pulse, not able to stay away for long when he’s spread out under him like this. 

“Oh, god, _Louis_ ,” Harry moans, voice rumbling under Louis’s tongue. “I’ve thought about kissing you, thought about you sitting on my _face_ every day since we met...your arse drives me crazy...I’ve been going absolutely mad,” he babbles, hands all over Louis’s shoulders, pushing up into his hair, hungry and aimless and needy. “I thought you’d hate me if you found out, but I’ve wanted you so, so, so badly.” 

Louis inhales raggedly, heart pounding, stomach dropping so hard he feels dizzy. “Wanted my arse or me?” he asks, even though he already knows, can tell by the way Harry _kissed_ him that he wants everything, is as lost as Louis is, has fallen as hard. Still, he wants to hear it, needs to hear it. 

“You, all of you,” Harry answers. “Every single thing.” 

“Me, too,” Louis says, inhaling Harry’s neck, his curls, pulling him in close and grinding into his body so he can _feel_ him, feel the whole hot length of his skin pressed up against him, his cock thick and wanting again, trapped against Louis’s thigh. “Fuck, Harry...you’re hard again, _jesus_.”

“Yeah, I am...can’t _help_ it,” Harry whines, head falling back. “Wanna eat you out again...wanna eat you out all night,” Harry slurs, humping against Louis’s leg. “Want everything.” 

And _god_ , it’s a lot, to know that Harry got off on licking Louis’s arse so much that he wants to do it again, that he hasn’t even come close to getting his fill yet. It’s so greedy and self-indulgent, and Louis loves it, but there are things he needs, too, places on Harry’s body he’s desperate to bite. “Well, _I_ want that, too, wanna taste you...how come you get everything?” Louis jokes, but he’s serious, mostly. He wants to crack Harry open, get his tongue up inside him, kiss down his legs from his thigh to his knee, feel the downy hair get coarse under his lips before he swallows his cock down, choking around the perfect heat of it. He wants to take him apart so badly that he’s dizzy with it, feels pressed for time even though he has the rest of his life to show Harry Styles what he _does_ to him. His hands shake as he holds Harry’s head steady, keeping him still as he presses hungry, sluggish pecks to his cheeks, his mouth, his chin. “I told you...I like those kinds of videos, too.” 

Harry sobs, breath snagging out between them for Louis to swallow. “You want that? With me?” 

“ _Yes_...fuck, yes, I do,” Louis tells him. And he's never thought about it explicitly before, about what it might feel like to get that particular part of Harry under his tongue, but _god,_ does he want it now that it’s more or less on the table. He wants _everything_ ; he never let himself fantasize about eating Harry’s perfect arse only because it seemed like _too much_ , too much to ask for, to even imagine, like he didn’t deserve it somehow. “I wanna eat you out,” he makes himself say, breathy and filthy, the truth trembling out between them in a raw, frayed whisper against Harry’s wrecked mouth. 

“God,” he moans, disentangling himself from Louis’s arms and rolling over, arching his back to present his bum, soft and pale and fucking _perfect_ , two little handfuls for Louis to bite. “S’yours.” 

It’s early, it’s getting light outside, and Louis is probably losing his fucking mind. It’s all Harry’s fault, though, Harry, who’s irresistible, insatiable, who has his heart. Louis smooths a hand up the back of his thigh, squeezing so his arse cheeks jiggle together, soft and delectable. “Mine,” he whispers in a sort of stunned disbelief, settling down on his tummy between Harry’s legs, and shutting his eyes to drown. 

—-


End file.
